


The Crimson Jess

by DramioneOG



Series: Fics by Gravidy [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark!Draco Malfoy, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Post-War, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:26:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29021184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DramioneOG/pseuds/DramioneOG
Summary: One-shot. The aftermath of the final battle as told by Draco Malfoy.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Series: Fics by Gravidy [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2129034
Comments: 2
Kudos: 34





	The Crimson Jess

**Author's Note:**

> This fiction is by Gravidy. She is an amazing author and removed her profile from ff.net a while back. Just preserving her works for the fan community. Happy to remove this if the author does not want them on AO3.
> 
> Disclaimer: In its use of intellectual property and characters belonging to JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Bloomsbury Publishing, et cetera, this work is intended to be transformative commentary on the original. No profit is being made from this work.

The last day of summer bloomed cool and sunny in the green countryside of London’s wizard community.

It was a holiday. A brand new holiday. And a solemn occasion though many that gathered there couldn’t help but breath in the sweet fresh air and smile with tears in their eyes, happy to be alive, happy that the war was finally over.

It seemed as if all of London had turned out, muggle and wizard, old and young. There were Hogwarts students decked out proudly in their house colors and young girl in floral print dresses. There were old men who sat quietly in the shade of poplar trees and lamented that they were alive when so many of their young had perished. They had all lost someone. All of them.

The weekend before had been a mass memorial for remembering all those who had died in the fight. But today’s commemoration was special and devoted only to three people.

The wizard community waited patiently in seemingly endless lines to place flowers and trinkets at the three special gravestones, they sang songs and cried and thanked the three departed for their sacrifice.

All of wizard London and much of muggle London had turned up for this holiday and yet one man’s appearance sent shockwaves through the gathered crowds. There were whispers and murmurs, and eyes turned to stare and children struggled through the crowds to tell their friends.

“He’s here!”

Neville Longbottom pushed his way through the crowd and stepped out to meet the man standing a bit away from the throng. He had heard what the people said but he still couldn’t believe that this man had come.

“Am I not welcome?” Draco Malfoy asked, grey eyes empty of expression as he stood, garbed in his best dress robes, his pale blond hair long enough to brush his shoulders. A large, regal-looking bird with snowy feathers speckled with darker hues, some breed of falcon, Neville surmised, perched, hooded and jessed, on Malfoy’s forearm.

He looked like his father, standing there.

“It’s just a surprise.” Neville said carefully when he’d recovered his voice, “I didn’t expect you to come. No one did. Not to this.”

“But I received an invitation.” The blond man said quietly and pulled the glossy white envelope from his robes as if he needed to show proof.

“You are welcome here.” Neville assured him, gently, “You lost as much as any of us and you helped us in the end.”

Malfoy had surprised them indeed. He had seemed to staunchly support Voldemort till the very end, backing the insane wizard loyally even after the murder of his father, his mother and Snape. But in the final battle, it was Malfoy who led Dumbledore’s army into Voldemort’s hideout and led Harry to Voldemort himself, into the room from which neither of them returned.

Neville couldn’t help adding, “I still didn’t expect you here.”

“I came to pay my respects.” The blond wizard said stiffly.

Neville blinked, “Of course.”

The crowd parted for them, two of the last of what the history books would call Hogwarts’ Lost Generation. Only twenty of those from Neville’s graduating class, out of all 105 of them from the four houses, still lived. Out of the twenty there was only one Slytherin and one Gryffindor. Neville and Draco.

They were the lost ones indeed.

The three headstones adorned a hill protected by a beautifully wrought iron fence, the front of which was now open to allow in the visitors. The ground was carpeted with flowers, photos, trinkets and keepsakes.

Remus Lupin stood as they approached, his face drawn and haggard, his hair now almost completely white, one of his legs crippled beyond repair. He seemed to have aged fifty years in the space of a few months.

His eyes darkened with hatred when they met Malfoy’s and he tensed as if he would lunge. The blond wizard halted and stood uncertainly, waiting, but then Lupin seemed to wilt, folding in on himself like a crumpled sheet of parchment. He hadn’t the strength to support the rage that wanted to overcome him. He was empty.

Lupin extended his shaking hand tiredly and the two clasped arms. The movement jostled the falcon, who made a questioning burble, and Malfoy hastened to soothe the creature.

“I wanted to blame you for this.” The werewolf rasped, looking up at the younger wizard with rheumy eyes, his face lined with grief, “ I wanted to blame myself, I wanted to blame everyone.” His voice rose at the end, becoming strangled as his throat closed in anguish.

“Everyone that is to blame is dead.” Malfoy said, something fierce sounding beneath the quiet assurance.

“I know and I wish they were alive so that I could rip them apart. I can’t bear this. I feel so old. We lost everyone, our aged and wise and our young and innocent. Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, Moody, Tonks, all of the Weasleys except Percy and, damn him, I’d trade him for any of the others, the fucking coward. And the children. Children without number. I can’t even name them all, there are too many.” Bitter tears streamed down his cheeks and he grit his teeth, trying to control himself.

“I’ve submitted a request to the Ministry that this cemetery become a Wizard monument.” Malfoy told him lowly, he petted his familiar’s soft breast and the bird warbled, “I’m certain it will be approved. They will erect a wall and the names of all those who died will be on it.”

“That’s a fitting idea, Malfoy. Thank you.” The other wizard drew himself up with a breath, dabbing at his face with a folded kerchief.

“It was the only thing I could do.” Malfoy smiled bitterly, “Useless as it is. I can’t help feeling…that I should have died with them.”

“That’s how I feel.” Neville whispered, “I wished I had died with Ginny.”

The three of them felt their gazes drawn irresistibly towards the gravestones and Malfoy stepped away from the two men towards the first marker.

“Ronald Lance Weasley. 1981-2003. Brave warrior, beloved son. He gave his life courageously to the ultimate defeat of Voldemort.” Malfoy paused, then continued softly, “ He died in the corridor. He held the Death Eaters off. Killed most of them. It was because of him that Harry was able to get to Voldemort.”

Lupin and Neville gasped. The two of them had not made it into the depths of Voldemort’s lair. Only a handful of people had walked away from the last battle, and of them all Malfoy knew the most of what happened in the end.

Malfoy turned to the second headstone, the one in the middle. He hesitated, then read.

“Harry James Potter. 1981-2003. The Boy Who Lived to become the Man Who Prevailed Against The Dark. Through you, the darkness was destroyed and the light triumphed. Your memory will live on through us and be cherished for all time.”

“Did you see what happened to Harry?” Lupin asked, his voice a wraith, though the desperation was audible just beneath. He needed to know what had become of the last of those he considered family. The last of the Marauders’ legacy.

Malfoy shook his head slowly, unable to meet Lupin’s pleading gaze, “I took him to the door. Voldemort knew he had lost. He was fleeing. Potter went after him. He hexed the door behind him so I couldn’t follow. I heard him scream when he went inside. Voldemort probably had the door rigged. I have no doubt that Potter’s mortal injury came when he first stepped through that door. The miracle of it is that he kept fighting. He refused to die until Voldemort was dead. If the fool hadn’t hexed the door…maybe I could have helped him.” Self-loathing burned down every line of the blond man’s body.

“By then…he may not have wanted help.” Neville said thickly, lying a hand on Malfoy’s shoulder.

“I think you’re right.” Malfoy agreed hollowly as he stepped slowly forward to stand before the last gravestone. He stared at the marker with an unreadable expression and then crouched down so that he was eye level with it. The falcon fussed at the awkward movement and nibbled Malfoy’s hair in punishment.

He ignored his familiar and read aloud.

“Hermione Sabriel Granger. 1981-2003. Beloved by all who knew her. Another soul so cherished, brave and beautiful as this shall never walk the earth. We would have been lost without you.” His voice softened as he finished and he pulled a single rose from his robes and laid it with the others in front of the marker, “Hermione…I’m so sorry kid.”

He rose in one elegant motion, his expression bitter, “Potter was going to propose to her. He had the ring in his pocket when he died. The fool never should have let her fight. Hermione was a powerful witch, but she should never have gone to battle.” Malfoy’s voice was suddenly so venomous that Neville was brought up short. The blond wizard’s gray eyes hardened to black ice, “She was too sweet. He knew she wouldn’t use the killing curse to save her own life. Somebody else’s maybe, but she was much too innocent and pure to kill to protect herself. He _knew_ that.”

Lupin turned away, tears on his cheeks again, “She never would have stayed on the sidelines. Hermione would have fought, no matter what.”

“We lost her in the catacombs,” Neville said softly, his eyes on the other wizard, “when they burned. We never found her body.” He paused, then continued cautiously, “Did you care for her, Malfoy?”

The blond wizard’s lips tightened and he turned away, “I’m leaving, I think I’ve lost my stomach for today’s festivities.”

Lupin and Neville exchanged startled glances as Malfoy left them without a backwards glance, the crowd moving quickly out of his way.

“Malfoy?” Neville called, “ Why…?”

For just an instant the other wizard hesitated,“ ‘ _Beloved by all who knew her_ …’” he quoted, his voice hollow and dead.

Neville took two steps after the other man, arm outstretched, “Did you love her, Malfoy?” he choked on the words, tears, though it felt as if he had shed oceans of them this past month, though it felt as if he should be shriveled and dried from all of the liquid that had poured from his eyes as he grieved, tears once more rained over his cheeks, “She would have wanted to know!” he called out, his breath sobbing, “You should have told her!”

Lupin put a hand on Neville’s shoulder, “Let him go.”

In the cool autumn air, the commemoration of three brave warriors continued and would continue until wounds healed and memories dulled and the names of the Golden Three became nothing more than meaningless words hastily scratched on parchment by Hogwart’s students learning their history.

And all was forgotten.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Malfoy mansion was silent and empty. The cold marble floors, the furniture covered in ghostly white cloths and the gathering layer of dust all adding to the tomb-like feeling the mansion now possessed.

Draco strode purposely through the main corridors without so much as a glance to either side, his lips in a thin tight line. He hated the enormous silence screaming in his ears. He hated the emptiness all around him that sent his flesh crawling as his senses strained, searching for movement or sound or warmth. He hated that he still expected to hear his mother’s classical music playing in the background and his father’s guffawing friends sharing a drink in the study. The mansion itself he hated with a passion.

It haunted him.

He had moved his quarters to the second floor of the south wing after his parents died. A wing of the mansion that, as far as he could tell, hadn’t been occupied since before his father was born. A fire was already crackling cheerily in the hearth when he entered, warming the small cozy room, for he found that he had no use for a giant bedroom with so much emptiness around him. A bottle of brandy sat on the small table adjacent to the armchair, a goblet waiting beside it.

He saw to his familiar first, removing the hood from the gyrfalcon’s head and smiling slightly when the bird fluffed up in relief and blinked rapidly to get used to the light. He eased the creature onto the perch by the window, ignoring the unsettling gaze that turned on him. When he assured himself that the House-Elves had properly seen to his familiar’s food and water he turned towards the bed where another set of robes lay neatly folded on the quilt.

The bird bent its head and nibbled at the red jess around its right ankle.

“Stop that.” Draco commanded sharply, pausing in the midst of sliding off his dress robes.

The bird’s head snapped up to glare at him before decidedly turning away to burrow its head in its feathers, going to sleep.

Draco let his dress robes slop to the floor and gratefully replaced them with the much more comfortable robes laid out for him. Comfort was his prerogative at the moment. He’d spent way too long suffocating in tension and fear and death and terror, balanced on the balls of his feet, ready to fight or flee, lying awake until dawn, knowing if he shut his eyes it could very well be for the last time, knowing everything could go wrong in an instant, waiting for news, anything, anything anyone could tell him, counting the bodies revealed in the morning light.

He shut his eyes, swallowing hard.

The war had gone on too long.

He sank into the armchair next to the fire, fairly collapsing in weariness.

He had decided that he would leave, had nearly convinced himself to sell the mansion, but no, he would simply pack a few essentials and retreat to some foreign country, some private beach or condo the family owned in Italy or the States or Japan. He would stay gone for a couple years and when he returned maybe the throngs of ghosts that seemed to lurk around every corner would have at least _begun_ to exorcise themselves.

From his house, his city, his mind.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose, eyes shut and fumbled for the bottle of brandy. He nearly reached for the goblet as well but abruptly abandoned the refinement of his upbringing and drank straight from the bottle in greedy gulps.

...

_“Let’s_ _go!” Potter screamed._

_The group pounded down the stone corridor at a full out run. Neville Longbottom sobbing because Ginny had fallen in the first wave. They had made it past the first blockade with Draco’s help. Here the hallways were almost completely empty. But not for long._

_“We_ _split up!” Potter ordered coldly, years of warfare having made him calm even in the midst of this mass confusion, “Malfoy, which way to Voldemort?”_

_“Go straight ahead, take the first left as far down as it goes. There’s a secret staircase under the second centaur statue. The password is Uniphageous. He’s hiding beneath.”_

_“Where_ _are the prisoners?” Potter asked._

_“For_ _Merlin’s sake, Potter! You really expect them to be alive?” he shouted._

_“WHERE_ _ARE THE PRISONERS?” Potter grabbed Draco violently by the collar and shook him._

_Draco_ _nearly shouted back but then sighed in defeat, “Two passages down from here, go right, then right again at the fourth passage. There’s a stairway down. Granger, you saw the map?”_

_The girl nodded._

_“Can_ _you navigate the catacombs?”_

_She nodded again._

_“Get_ _to the other side and take the third door on your left straight down. That’s the dungeon. If either of the other two doors are open, get the fuck out of there.”_

_“Right_ _. I’ve got it.” she said, “I’ll take Neville and Terry with me.” She turned suddenly and flung herself into Potter’s arms._

_Potter kissed her hungrily, desperately because they both knew it might very well be the last time they saw each other. Draco watched them coldly, trying not to let the anger and jealousy show on his face. Granger pulled away from Potter and stroked his cheek, staring soberly into his eyes for a long moment. She hugged Weasley fiercely and the red-head kissed the top of her head before pulling away reluctantly._

_“Let’s_ _go.” Granger said to Longbottom and Boot and the two men nodded._

_She glanced back at Draco once, much to his surprise, her expression unreadable, her face glowing and beautiful in the torchlight. She said nothing. Potter caught the exchange and turned to give Draco a questioning look._

...

Potter.

Potter and Weasley and Granger and Voldemort and Lucius and Snape and…

Heroes and zealots.

Who had won in the end?

Had anyone won?

The battle. The war.

Voldemort, the insane Mudblood, neither wizard nor Muggle or maybe too much of both. Killing both sides in his mad scramble for power. He had claimed he wished to decimate the Muggles or enslave them yet he had killed more wizards and witches then ever he did Muggles. Draco suspected it was jealousy. He had hated the purebloods just as poignantly as he hated the Muggles. But that was the lie.

The destruction of the Muggle world was merely Voldemort’s camouflage, the Muggles his scapegoats. It hadn’t been about that. Draco knew it was more about power and absolutely about cheating death.

You were growing old, weren’t you, you old snake, old and frail and feeble and you feared death more than you feared anything else. And the power was a nice bonus, wasn’t it? Maybe it was never about the Muggles and all about being in control. Maybe you knew you couldn’t stop it, knew you were going to die and simply decided to take us all with you.

So much for a righteous cause.

Voldemort had lost.

He was dead and the Muggles still lived. He had not won a single objective except perhaps revenge on Potter. He’d gotten that in spades.

What of Potter?

If Voldemort lost that meant Potter won right?

Perhaps from a heroic point of view Potter might have gained something, but he was just as dead as Voldemort in the end and had lost just as much or more than his enemy did.

Potter’s goal had been to defeat Voldemort and he had at least done that so they were even in that respect. But had it been worth the deaths of all his friends, the Weasley family who had adopted him, his mentor Dumbledore and nearly half of Hogwarts?

He had failed them all. He was no hero. Voldemort’s life had not been worth the hundreds, maybe thousands, that were lost.

Perhaps then, Potter had fulfilled his goal to make the Muggles safer or more accepted in the wizarding community? That would have at least been a point to his credit. But he hadn’t done that either.

If things didn’t go right back to the way they used to be, and with new groups of young hate-mongers on the rise, ready to form a group to oppose the Muggles, then things would get worse. Voldemort’s insanity would be blamed on his Muggle blood and the fear and hatred would stir and bubble until it overflowed, spewing out in a deadly fountain to coat the entire community.

Potter had failed miserably and Draco found that he could hate the man now more than ever.

So much for the hero.

Had anyone really won in this terrible affair? It was supposed to be a revolution from either side’s point of view. Purifying the wizard world on Voldemort’s side and establishing tolerance from Potter’s. Yet neither of them had accomplished anything. Had the war done nothing but demolish everyone and everything it touched?

...

_“Crabbe, Goyle!” he couldn’t help but stop short in surprise._

_Potter and Weasley were right behind him, wands up instantly and he knew neither of them would hesitate to kill his childhood friends._

_The two hulking wizards paused, wands half raised as they eyed Draco dubiously._

_“We_ _can’t let you pass.” Goyle said but he sounded unhappy._

_Draco_ _stepped forward, “I’m taking Potter to Voldemort. Stand down.”_

_The two exchanged glances but then Goyle steadied his wand, his eyes becoming hard with determination, “They said we shouldn’t let you pass. You betrayed us, Draco.”_

_“NO_ _!” he shouted, “Voldemort betrayed us! He killed our fathers. It wasn’t Potter or Dumbledore. It was the Death Eaters.”_

_Neither of them were moved by his speech. Their faces remained impassive as stone._

_“Damnit listen to me!”_

_“I’m_ _sorry Draco.” Crabbe said and raised his wand but Draco was faster._

_“Avada_ _Dikedavra.” The shot of green sparks split into two in midair and then his two best friends were dead, slumped on the floor, still staring at him accusingly._

_He could feel Potter and Weasley staring at him, feel the sympathy they felt but would never voice._

_“I’m_ _sorry too.”_

...

Perhaps the winners were the survivors? Longbottom and Lupin. Cowards and weaklings. They had lost everything and gained nothing but their own worthless lives.

Draco felt his lip curl in disgust and took another swig from the bottle, wiping the back of his mouth with his hand.

“‘Through you, the darkness was destroyed and the light triumphed.’” He quoted softly.

The gyrfalcon dozing on its perch near the heavily draped window opened one eye.

“Did the light triumph?” he asked the bird, “Did goodness prevail?”

The bird raised its head and hissed at him.

“We could leave tonight. Just leave and not look back.” He said mutely and shook his head, “but there are still some loose ends to tie up.”

As if that were a cue, there was a knock at the heavy oaken door.

“Enter.” Draco commanded resignedly, without looking up.

The door swung open to reveal a groveling House-Elf and a grizzled, nervous looking wizard.

“You wished to see me?” the wizard asked, eyes on his muddy boots, voice almost whiny as he addressed the other man with extreme politeness.

...

_“They’re_ _right behind us, mate!” Weasley snarled, shooting a look over his shoulder._

_Draco_ _snarled as he heard the shouting and pounding feet. They weren’t close enough to start casting spells yet, but almost,“ Potter, keep going. Head on to the centaur statue like I told you. We’ll meet you there.”_

_“Right_ _!” Potter didn’t hesitate, he sprinted away._

_Weasley_ _turned to Draco, “We gonna hold them off?”_

_He nodded, “For as long as we can.”_

_Weasley_ _grinned a dark, bloody smile, “Let’s kick some ass.”_

_The two men whirled to meet their enemy._

_The Death Eaters slowed as they approached, leering and threatening, wands raised._

_Weasley_ _straightened suddenly, eyes going wide with shock, “Malfoy?”_

...

“Sir? Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco nodded slowly, contemplating his bottle, “Remus Lupin. Neville Longbottom. I want them dead by tomorrow night. Make it look like suicide. There’s a suicide note for Lupin and a photo of Ginny Weasley for Longbottom on the table.”

_“Malfoy_ _?” Weasley stared at the wand trained on him in shock._

_“Avada_ _kedavra.” Draco’s gray eyes were as serene and empty as the clear blue sky._

_The red-headed boy seemed to stare at him for a long time before he finally crumpled slowly to the ground._

_The Death Eaters sniggered._

_“That’s_ _the last one right?” Nott giggled, “ The last Weasley?”_

_Draco_ _turned his empty gaze onto them and they quieted, stirring uneasily. He fished something from his robes, a round clear globe with green smoke swirling inside it and studied it for a moment before he tossed it nonchalantly into the midst of them._

_The globe shattered and a roaring wind burst free along with snapping vines like a green tornado. Instantly the Death Eaters were shrieking and scrambling as the thick vines wrapped around their necks, impaled them on massive thorns and twisted around their middles, squeezing until their spines broke and their bodies bent at strange angles._

_Draco_ _stood still, hair blowing about his face, placidly watching the massacre until the hallway was still and silent._

_Then he turned and headed down towards the catacombs and set the place ablaze._

...

The wizard nodded quickly, not looking up, and limped over to grab the items but before he reached them the gyrfalcon leapt into the air, shrieking, and attacked, its heavy body slamming into the man as it slashed and tore with wickedly sharp beak and talons. The wizard screamed as the bird scored his face, arms flying up to protect his head. Draco was on his feet, lunging across the room as the other man lashed out and the gyrfalcon slammed to the floor.

“You son of a bitch!” Draco screamed and backhanded the other man as hard as he could.

The older wizard slammed backwards into the wall and fell across the table, sending everything crashing to the floor in a crystal shatter of glass and the heavy slap of books.

Draco turned his back on the wizard and went to the gyrfalcon that was flopping around on the ground, crying piteously. He soothed the creature tenderly, petting silken feathers and slipping a hood over the bird’s eyes. Falcons were a lot calmer when they could not see anything to be afraid of or aggressive towards. He attached a leash to the blue jess dangling from the bird’s left ankle and wrapped the other end around his arm.

He stood with the falcon perched on his arm and glared murderously at the man who was still dazed on the floor, fingering his bleeding face, “You’re lucky she’s unhurt. Otherwise I would kill you.”

The man nodded, not daring to argue.

“Get out.”

The wizard scrambled to obey, leaving a smear of blood on the wall as he braced himself to stand. Draco watched him leave, feeling his falcon’s heartbeat still thumping double time against his chest. He ignored the mess on the floor and sat back in the armchair, waiting for his familiar to calm.

...

_The catacombs were burning._

_Terry Boot was dead but Longbottom had somehow stumbled upon the way out. Hermione Granger was aware of none of this. She was stumbling through the burning wreckage, coughing and screaming for her friends. She used her wand continuously to clear the air about her, protecting her from the smoke and falling debris but not very well._

_Tears stained her sooty cheeks._

_She was torn between finding the way out and finding her friends. She couldn’t leave them, she just couldn’t, but she wouldn’t last much longer in this inferno._

_Part of the ceiling caved and she screamed, lurching back. She instinctively tried to apparate only to remember a moment later that the hideout was shielded. She scrambled back the way she had come, back towards the prison._

_The empty prison._

_What had become of those housed there was something best left unconsidered. There was not a trace of them left. The prison itself was warded and shielded and made of stone. She was certain she could take refuge there._

_That was where Draco found her, straining to pull open the massive prison door. She gasped when she saw his silhouette against the flames._

_“Terry_ _? Neville?” she raised her wand shakily._

_“They’re_ _dead, Granger.”_

_“Malfoy_ _!” she gasped, her eyes going wide._

_She didn’t lower her wand and that’s when Draco realized that she suspected him. Had maybe suspected him all along. He approached her carefully, wand ready but not aimed._

_“They_ _found their way out,” he told her lowly, “but they were ambushed at the top of the stairs.” He stalked towards her carefully, his expression calm, gauging her reaction._

_“Ambushed_ _?” her voice shook and her knuckles whitened as she clenched her wand harder._

_“Death_ _Eaters.” He told her softly, eyes intent on her face._

_She wet her lips, and stepped backwards away from him into the prison. The heat dissipated the moment they crossed the prison threshold, the fire and smoke unable to enter. He kept coming forward and she took a deep breath and pointed the wand at him more firmly._

_“Say_ _it.” he commanded._

_Her lower lip trembled._

_“It’s_ _really easy. Just two words.”_

_“I_ _… I will, Malfoy. Don’t think I won’t.” she threatened weakly._

_She backed into a wall of bars and whimpered as he stepped in front of her, letting her wand press into his chest._

_“Say_ _it.” he whispered, “Come on, Granger. Save yourself.”_

_Her lips worked but no sound came out._

_“Avada_ _…” he whispered into her ear, pressing so close that he could feel her shaking, his lips brushing her temple, “Avada kedavra.”_

...

Once Longbottom and Lupin were dead, MacNair would be the last of the loose ends. Draco would take pleasure in killing the old fool and then he could leave. His things were already packed. Tomorrow night he would be able to walk away and maybe when he returned things would finally have calmed down.

Everything was in too much of an upheaval now for him to make any more progress. He had already donated massive sums to the restoration of wizard society. If he kept up the generous donations during his absence over the next two years the parties involved should come to rely on his monetary support enough to be a bit more malleable to his will when he returned.

That was the problem with civil war; it left the normally docile general population too riled to be controlled properly.

Luckily, he had discretion. Unlike Potter and Voldemort and even his own father, he had the diplomacy and political knack to go about his business and further his own goals without being suspected.

They had never suspected.

That was Potter and Voldemort’s true shortcoming. They had lost because neither of them had seen the truth. They had been so focused on each other that they hadn’t realized who their real enemy was.

...

_“Potter_ _! Potter, where are you?”_

_Potter stepped out from the shadows near the centaur statue._

_“Where’s_ _Ron?” he snapped._

_Draco_ _felt his lips tighten. He shook his head, a quick jerk._

_Potter didn’t even blink. He couldn’t. He and the others had learned quickly to suppress all emotions while in battle. Otherwise they would have broken long ago._

_“Hermione_ _, Neville and Terry haven’t come back either.” Potter said._

_“The_ _catacombs are on fire.” Draco told him._

_Potter turned away sharply, “Let’s go. Let’s finish this.”_

_Draco_ _opened the stairwell and the two men raced down into the dimly lit crypt. The ground at the bottom of the stairs was dirt not stone, the walls were wet and slimy and rats scattered as the two jogged past. There were no Death Eaters here, no last defense._

_Just one last door._

_Potter wrenched the heavy door open, allowing the faint light to spill into the pitch black room and illuminate the large lump of molding flesh and musty robes lying in the middle of the floor._

_“What_ _the…?” Potter stepped inside, Draco taking over holding the door, “It’s Voldemort!” he said in shock and stepped closer to the wizard lying gray-skinned and still on the damp earth._

_The Dark Lord’s eyes were flat, wide and staring. His mouth open in surprise, revealing teeth yellow and long with age._

_“He’s_ _dead.” Potter said, stunned, “What’s going on? Malfoy?”_

_He turned as the door started to squeal shut, cutting off the light as Draco stepped into the room._

_Harry Potter saw Draco Malfoy’s eyes gleaming in that last sliver of light, the very last light he would ever see._

...

Draco had been there all along to reap the benefits of their battles. Striking when they were weak, taking whenever he could. He had led Voldemort to Dumbledore and the Order. He had killed Lucius and Snape and Narcissa himself. It had all been too easy. Playing both sides while they killed each other off, until the zealots and heroes were all dead and only he was left.

Let the history books call Potter the hero, the sole victor who triumphed over evil. Draco knew the truth.

Potter was dead and there was only one real winner out of all those who fought.

“And we both know who that is, don’t we, my beauty?” His eyes softened as they rested on the gyrfalcon whose breast rested against his own.

He reached down to the red jess about the bird’s right ankle and, with a deft twist, let it fall away. There was a rush of robes and warmth and feathers and then the bird was gone and a lovely young woman collapsed weakly against him. She was naked except for a hood over her eyes and three blue jesses hung with bells tied around one ankle and both of her wrists.

He folded one arm around her carefully as she clung to him, shivering, and slowly slid the hood off of her unruly hair. Hermione Granger’s dazed brown eyes stared up at him, lips parted in little pants. He’d kept her so long in her animagus form this time that she’d mostly forgotten how to speak.

“Don’t worry. It will all come back.” He assured her tenderly, stroking her cheek, “And once we leave London I’ll allow you to spend more time in human form.”

...

_“Avada_ _kedavra.”_

_She flinched with a high-pitched little gasp, her body going rigid when he said the words, her eyes cinched tight as she steeled herself for death, but he had not cast the spell._

_He clucked his tongue at her in disappointment._

_When she realized she was still alive, she looked up at him with huge, confused eyes._

_“You_ _can’t do it, can you?” He murmured, brushing a hand over her cheek, “Not even to save your own life. You’re too good. Too pure. Fucking Potter never should have left you alone.”_

_His hand slid from her cheek, down to cover her breast and she gasped, unintentionally pushing more firmly into his palm. He caught her mouth with his before she could protest, smothering her outraged cry. Caressing her breast with one hand, he held her head still with the other while she tried to squirm away._

_He released her breast to pluck her wand easily out of her hand and toss it over his shoulder. She made an angry sound against his lips, reaching futilely for her lost wand and then pounding on him with her small fists._

_He smoothed her hair back from her face, pulling away only slightly, “I’ll be back for you.” He whispered against her lips, “_ Obdormio _.”_

_She made a small sound, a little cry, and slumped against him, deeply asleep. He scooped her up and carried her to one of the prison cells, setting her on the cot and locking her safely inside. Locking the prison itself behind him._

_He returned for her after Potter lay dead in his tomb with Voldemort. And no one ever discovered what became of her._

...

Her lips moved. She tried to speak, her voice coming weak and breathless, “ …uss…amusss.”

Remus. She was trying to say.

“He’s going to die.” He told her gently, pulling her head down against his shoulder,“ It’s too late anyway. He’s already given up on you. No one’s looking for you anymore. They all believe you’re dead.”

She hiccupped softly, a tear sliding down her cheek, her eyes beautiful with despair.

“We’ll go somewhere far away, just you and I. And when we come back, there will be no one left who remembers you.”

He brushed her tears away with his thumb and pulled her against his chest, rising with her in his arms. She didn’t fight as he lay her down on the bed but she turned her head away, shutting her eyes tight and hugging herself as he unfastened his robes and slid them off, climbing onto the bed to cover her with his body.

She was warm and soft and perfect beneath him.

He kissed her trembling lips with all the tenderness he’d only ever felt for her, running his hands hungrily over her body, catching the hands that were clenched nervously at her breast and pulling them down to her side.

“We both know who the real winner is, don’t we?” he repeated, tilting her chin to make her look at him, losing himself in those innocent brown eyes, “I made sacrifices, it’s true, but now look what I have: the wizarding world ready to huddle under me for protection, the Muggle world mine to pillage, my father’s estate, Voldemort’s secrets, his wealth and his followers. And you.” He smirked at her, sliding with little resistance between her silken thighs, “ All mine.” He kissed her mouth, savoring her, “Maybe I’ll even do the whole Dark Lord thing. What do you think of the name Lord Draconis?”

He laughed as she made a horrified sound in her throat and turned her face away, pushing at him. He quelled her half-hearted struggles with his greater strength and joined their bodies in one gentle thrust, groaning in ecstasy, glorying in the feel of her hot, clasping sheath around his prick. She gasped helplessly against his mouth as he moved within her, her lips feathering against his own, sweet panting breath against his cheek, her eyes clenched shut in an agony of unwilling pleasure.

His prize, his victory, his spoils of war.

Draco buried his face against her neck, smiling, listening dreamily to her cries.

Winner take all.

-finis-


End file.
